longing to linger until dawn
by spentnights
Summary: We'll always have Paris, Humphrey.  Dan/Blair


**Title: **longing to linger until dawn

**Characters: **Dan, Dan/Blair.

**Rating/Word Count: **PG/680.

**Summary: **_We'll always have Paris, Humphrey._

_

* * *

_

He goes to Paris one summer.

He's looking for inspiration or a change of pace or something along those lines. At least that's what he told everyone.

Dan supposes it's partially right.

The truth is, he's grown tired of New York. The people, the places, the memories, the lies-deceit-betrayal (insert here) that he has come to know on a daily basis.

His name is in big and bold print on published books, penned in ink on autograph paper. There's the occasional recognition from strangers.

But the hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps no longer entices him, just makes him long for a simpler life that he can barely remember.

Back then all he wanted was to be noticed, now all he wants is to disappear.

* * *

He walks along cobbled streets and passes landmarks; remembers the first time he came here.

Realizes it feels completely different.

He checks into a small hotel, nice enough to appease his desires and cheap enough to remind him of who he used to be.

Maybe there's just less pollution in Paris, but the air feels lighter, less confined – and his heart and mind follow suit.

He pulls a Salinger and falls off the map, delves even deeper into isolation.

He doesn't return phone calls. He doesn't sightsee. He definitely doesn't write.

For two straight weeks, he sits in his hotel room; he smokes too many cigarettes and drinks too much, contemplates how fucked up he's become, trying to put pen to paper in hopes of inspiration.

All to no avail.

He's officially lost it. Whatever _it_ was.

(Or maybe he never had it to begin with.)

* * *

One night he ventures out, finds himself at a crowded bar.

He almost leaves when he spots something he never expected.

Blair Waldorf sits alone at the bar, a cigarette between her fingers and a martini in front of her.

The smart thing to do would be to leave, to forget he ever saw her.

But he doesn't.

"Hey, Waldorf."

Her eyes flicker toward him, look him up and down. Her lips twist into a frown, breathes out a sigh.

"Humphrey."

For some reason he smiles.

* * *

The events afterwards are all a bit of a blur.

There was alcohol – a lot of it – and secret confessions; not-so-playful insults and more eye rolls than he can count; a few lies and surprisingly more truths.

There was a drunken kiss and a drunken fuck, and he's not sure who initiated it but he didn't stop it and neither did she.

(There was also a look of _something_, but he pushes those thoughts away.)

* * *

She doesn't leave the next morning.

He doesn't ask her to.

* * *

It's not as far as dating, but it's not as lowly as just fucking – so he's not sure what it is.

He doesn't love her but he doesn't really hate her anymore either.

But he does like the way she smiles and her clever insults, and she's kind of gorgeous even when she's being a bitch. And although he'd never admit it, being a brooding poet is lonely.

So he doesn't complain.

* * *

He looks up from his paper one night, momentarily forgets the lines and lines of writing he's finally been able to do. He watches her, asleep in his bed, from his place by the window.

The moonlight illuminates her pale skin, and her dark features contrast more than ever.

Dan's not sure how he never realized how amazing she was before. (_Wait, did he really just think that?_)

"Stop staring, Humphrey."

There's annoyance in her voice, but he can tell it's just for show. He laughs anyways, turns away and back to his paper.

Apparently he's found his muse.

* * *

Dan wakes up one morning to an empty hotel room. The air smells of smoke, but there's the scent of a girlish perfume on his sheets.

He doesn't call her name, doesn't get out of bed to search. It's not really unexpected.

He finds a note on his desk.

_We'll always have Paris, Humphrey._

He smiles even though he's just been abandoned.

Scrawled at the bottom, a few words he ignores: _But you'd never have me._

It feels more like a challenge than a rejection.

* * *

Please review if you will! :)


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